


I Trust You with My Heart

by Azryelle



Category: Code: Realize, Code: Realize ~Guardian of Rebirth~
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Oneshot, Oneshot collections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azryelle/pseuds/Azryelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles/oneshots focused on SanCardia from my Cardia Beckford roleplay blog.<br/>Various time placements from common route to post-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm tired."

They had arrived back in London late the night before due to the train running behind schedule. Once they reached the estate, Saint had insisted that he wanted to finish unpacking before he went to bed, and while she stayed up to help, Cardia soon found herself nodding off during the task. Despite her protest that she wanted to stay up, he swept her off her feet and carried her to bed, insisting that she sleep and he would go to sleep soon as well.

Faint streaks of dawn peek through the partially drawn curtains of her bedroom as Cardia slowly blinks away the drowsiness, lengthening and stretching in her bed. She sits up and yawns, her mahogany hair tousled and rumpled from the evening’s sleep, tiny tears forming at the corners of her beryl eyes. She hops out of bed and heads downstairs to the living areas looking for him—he always manages to wake up before she does—but he is nowhere to be found. 

Holding up the sides of her nightgown to ensure she doesn’t trip on the silken fabric (she has fallen prey to tripping on the beautiful nightgowns in the past), she bounds back up the staircase towards Saint’s bedroom. Once in front of his door, rapping her gloved knuckles gently against it, she waits for confirmation from the other side to enter. Silence. She knocks on the door once more, this time firmly, “Are you awake?” Once more she was greeted by silence.

Cardia turns the knob slowly with a faint click, peeking through the small crack as she opens the door. She smiles widely when she sees Saint still lying in bed, the covers pulled snugly over his body. Padding across the bedroom, a playful smile curves her lips, amused that for once she is awake before he is. “Good morning.” says softly, leaning over him bedside.

She watches him stir momentarily before she hears a drowsy murmur from him. She has to stifle a giggle at his response, a hand covering her lips. Palms sinking into the plush mattress, she slowly climbs into bed, crawling beside him—it should be alright since she wasn’t asleep and therefore she wouldn’t accidentally melt him–. “Then sleep,” she says with a giggle as she curls up against him, like a small feline, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Every beat, every rise and fall of his chest filled her with happiness. An idle finger traces lazy swirls and circles up and down his chest and abdomen, as a happy tune hums from her smiling lips. 

 

“I hope you’re having sweet dreams.” she whispers, turning her face slightly to plant a small kiss on his chest and rests her head down once more, “I love you.”


	2. "Kiss me."

The plush mattress sinks beneath his weight as he crawls closer to her on the bed. Suddenly she is aware of very sound, every movement; the rustling of the blanket as he draws near, the cricket’s aria from the open window, his moon silver hair lightly grazing his cheeks, his cyan hues smoldering beneath silvery lashes; everything seemed to move in slow motion. Cardia’s pulse quickens when he draws her close, his arms securing themselves around her waist. Gentle hands slip beneath the hem of her silken blouse to the small of her back, fingers press onto her bare skin, tracing small lines and swirls. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but this time everything is different. Every stroke, every caress on her skin is like fire, burning then fading to warmth beneath his touch, making her breath hasten and her head spin. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands—likely due to her lightheadedness— her fingers helplessly clutching onto the smooth fabric of his lapel, but finally they snake their way to the back of his head, entangling themselves in the soft peaks of silver. She allows his hands to wander along the lines of her body as his name comes in tiny breaths and gasps at his collar. When he reaches his hand to stroke her flushed cheeks, she realizes that their skin holds the same warmth, the same heat. He lifts her chin drawing her beryl hues into his cyan depths, their eyes mirroring the same need, the same fervor. Coral lips parting slightly as he leans in, stopping short of her lips.

“Kiss me.”  
His voice no more than a whisper, warm breath brushing against her lips. His statement is more than a request, just shy of whispered prayer; two words as if offered in reverence of divinity. She bites her bottom lip in anticipation, knowing he’s not going to accept any coyness as a response. No matter how hard she is blushing right now. Not this time, not when there is no longer the threat of the poison, not when they can touch like this.

Her hands find their way to his face, fingertips gingerly pulling him closer, coral lips colliding against his slightly parted mouth. She begins softly, a series of gentle pecks on his lips, worried that she isn’t doing it right, but when she feels him push back with earnest her body responds almost instantly and she feels herself leaning into his fervent kiss. A light sigh escapes her lips, his kisses are sweeter than she ever imagined, and she can taste how much she loves him.

When they finally come up for air she rests her head against his chest “I love you…” she breathes, three words that resonate within her entire being, eyes slowly closing in contentment. 

A sudden pain shoots through her chest, serrated and jagged, she gasps, hands moving to the site of the pain, over the molten pink scar on her chest where the Horologium was once embedded. Brows furrowed she doubles over, the pain knifing her at her ribs, vice like force crushing her chest and all she can do is shudder through the agonizing pain.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Victor had reviewed the procedure– they all had reviewed it–, performed all of the initial tests. Of the thousands of methods they came across this was the one, so why was this happening? Victor had calculated a 99.9% survival rate.

She feels his arms wrap around her, cradling her, holding her close and although she can feel the warmth of his body pressed against hers she feels so cold. Warmth slipping away from her, she recoils again, agony shattering her core, tears welling, stinging her strained eyes. Her vision is now hazy, but she can still make out the outlines of his face, even with her eyes closed she can see him, he is so deeply etched within her, within her soul. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t imprinted by the love they share.

He’s saying something to her but she is unable to hear him through the muffled ringing in her ears. But when she weakly reaches for him, he suddenly he releases her and she falls, gasping for air landing with a shattering thud.

Beryl hues snap open into darkness, a cold breeze ghosts against her. She sits up, her gaze darts her surroundings, only to find herself back in her bedroom at the mansion. Placing her fingertips at her chest she can feel the low thrum of the horologium beneath her nightgown, her chest rising and falling rapidly from her panicked breaths.

A nightmare? Another nightmare that she will never tell Saint about. Another suppressed fear that manifests itself despite her best efforts, always lingering, slowly sinking is claws into her, sharper, deeper, sapping her resolve. Fingers lightly brush against her face pushing away locks of mahogany that clung to her tear stained cheeks. She allows herself to fall backward to the mattress, her head sinking into the soft pillows. She turns to her side, choking back a small sob, curling body as small as possible, holding herself, her hands move to the necklace around her neck—a gift from him– wrapping the golden strand around her fingers, her thumb gently running over the filigree heart pendant that hangs at her chest, waiting for daybreak.


	3. "You don't need to be so gentle."

The downpour came with little warning. What began as a light splatter of raindrops mottling the pavement during their stroll had quickly escalated to cascades of rainfall. Hurried footsteps dash for the mansion –luckily they were only a few blocks away –past the ornate iron gates and up the stone steps.

A gloved hand rests on the column of the portico as Cardia tries to catch her breath. Thankful that they were able to get out of the rain, however not fast enough as she notices how the drenched silk blouse clung to her slender arms and how her clothing awkwardly hugged her form.

Beryl hues watch the torrent of errant drops, drumming onto the paved walkway from beneath the covered steps. Judging by the silence from within the mansion, Cardia gathers that none of the others had arrived yet. After all, they did arrive in London a few days earlier than planned to prepare for the gathering.

A smile tugs the corners of coral lips as she turns to Saint Germain, his waistcoat sodden, even his hat fell victim to the downpour, the once plush feathers now wilted against it. The rain however, has done nothing to tarnish his perfect features, the placid expression on his face.

She moves closer to him, lessening the distance between their bodies. Tilting her face upwards she allows her eyes to meet his gaze, noting the tiny droplets of water that beaded on his long silvery lashes, even up close he is flawless. She lifts a gloved hand towards his face albeit hesitantly, fingertips barely brushing against his cheek, but then curls her fingers away inches from his face, the memory her poisonous touch searing his face still etched deeply in her mind. Though to feel the warmth of his cheek against her bare hand once more was something she would give her last breath for.

"You don’t need to be so gentle," his tone is warm.

She inhales a silent breath, softly gliding her thumb across his cheek, pushing away a slick lock of silver that clung to his face. “—I know,” she says quietly, “But I don’t ever want to hurt you.” she added looking down, resting her cheek against his chest, glad that he had all his clothing treated against her poison.

The familiar beating of his heart soothes her worries some, “You belong to me right?” she asks in confirmation, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt. It’s not that he hasn’t told her that he belonged to her before, but it never ceased to make her chest swell with happiness each time he said it.


	4. Saint-Germain crying about something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Response to the prompt: 'You muse crying about something."

A slight shift in the blankets elicits a drowsy hum from her lips, Cardia turns in the direction of the movement, her coral lips curve into a dreamy smile. Despite her eyes still being closed she knows he is there, she can feel his warmth beside her and she nestles herself closer. “Someone once taught me that it’s rude to stare,” a drowsy murmur but still held a teasing edge as she subdues a giggle.

She hears him laugh lowly, the backs of his curled fingertips brushing gently against the side of her face, his warmth is even more apparent, now that he no longer needs to wear gloves. Pressing her cheek into his touch, her lips brush against the backs of his fingers as she breathes a happy sigh.

He softly whispers an apology for waking her and she shakes her head, “It’s alright,” she begins, beryl hues slowly fluttering open to gaze upon him as he is lying beside her propped up on his arm looking down at her. She meets his gaze to find his eyes welled with unshed tears. Brows knit at his expression and she smiles at him, lifting her hands to cradle his face, a thumb swiping away at the corners of his eyes, only to find emotion glazing her own eyes. She can feel him—skin on skin, there is no fear of burning or melting at her touch.

There are no words to express the immense joy radiating in her chest, being able to feel his skin beneath her fingertips, to feel his warmth. It was only yesterday that they finally trialed the suppressant that Victor had spent months working on, a solution that they had spent even longer researching through trial and error. It was a temporary solution, only suppressing the poison in her veins for a finite amount of time, but it was more than she could ever ask for. A positive leap, filling her with hope for the cure, but for now this was more than enough.

Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling him downwards into her embrace as his hands find their way to her waist and pulls her close. Slowly closing her eyes she savors each touch that she had yearned for so much. She’ll cherish these moments forever. Drawing a shaky breath she is unable to contain the torrent of emotion that rushes through her, and he pulls away, just enough to look down at her, his hand brushing away a loose lock of mahogany from her face. Her hand moves to his face, brushing an idle thumb over his lips– as she has done so many times before– but this time she can feel how soft and warm they are, her chest tightens when she recalls how many times he’s singed his lips when he kissed her, how they momentarily held a deep pink hue before fading as his regeneration healed the burns. He calls her name inquisitively, likely noticing her pause, but before he could continue his thought she lifts her shoulders off the pillow and presses her lips against his, arms encircling his neck, drawing him closer to close the narrow distance between them. She will devote herself to erasing all the times he’s hurt himself for her sake, all the times she’s hurt him. She feels him smiling against her lips as he kisses her back and she can’t help but smile, her nose brushing against his as he plants feathery kisses on her face before they find their way back to her lips again. Every pain, every heartache they’ve endured was worth it. And now she realizes that all that time she spent alone, waiting was because she was waiting for him, just as much as he was waiting for her.


	5. Saint-Germain falling asleep in Cardia's lap

The afternoon sun filters through the branches of the large tree, casting dancing shadows on them as the warm breeze gently rustles the golden hued foliage. They had been chatting cheerily amongst themselves, reminiscing on times the spent with friends, laughing about inside jokes and teasing one another—it was mostly Saint teasing her, but she didn’t mind. Cardia smiles absently, leaning against the base of the tree. With his hat set off to the side, it allowed her gloved fingers, light in their ministrations, to run though downy peaks of moon-silver as he rests his head on her lap. “—and on our way back I want to pick up some sweets for Delly. I think he would love the candies,” lips arch in a bright smile, excitement apparent in her tone as her thoughts wander to her dear friend.

For a moment she is silent, expecting him to reply, maybe even a slight sulk about how she is always thinking of the others, but he remains still. She looks down at him inquisitively, he was just responding to her only moments ago. “Saint?” she softly calls, leaning forward to steal a glance at his face. Her fingers are gentle in their movements, gingerly pushing back long silvery strands that have fallen into his face. Cardia’s lips curve into a tender smile seeing a serene expression on his sleeping face; with his eyes closed his incredibly long lashes are more apparent against his fair skin.

Their destination is still a ways ahead of them—they only meant to stop for a quick rest and lunch—but she can’t bring herself to wake him. She knows there is much about their journey that weighs heavily on his mind, things he keeps to himself behind his tender smile, things he protects her from that are better left unsaid. She catches glimpses of his worries when they eyes meet, a reflection of the unspoken worries that she also harbors within. So she allows him to rest, he’s been fighting so hard for her all this time, and in many ways he still is. They both are.

A myriad of emotions swirl quietly within her chest. The calming scents of spring wafts in the breeze, shifting mahogany locks across her eyes. A soft melody hums from her lips, beryl hues trailing her curled fingers as they gently stroke the side of his face moving towards his jaw before gingerly pushing back the collar of his jacket. There is a certain fleeting surreality to this moment, the tranquility of the scenery that unfolded before her, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he is asleep with his head in her lap. It’s as if they are encapsulated in a small globe, world of their own where only the two of them exist. There is no poison, no threats to their happiness together, just bliss; if she could steal a few minutes more of this fleeting moment then she would stay in it as long as she could. To be with him is all she wants.

She is broken from her reverie by the low thrumming of the horologium, a hand coming to her chest, fingers splaying across the gem humming beneath her blouse. Something that tastes oddly of melancholy lays down in the back of her throat as she swallows the reality that rushes back to her. She presses her lips in a small kiss against gloved fingers before lightly touching his cheek.

“I hope you are having sweet dreams,” she whispers, continuing to run her fingers through his hair once more. “No matter that lies ahead of us, I’ll always love you.”


	6. "Please don't die on me."

Counterfeit, fake, forged, words that could easily describe her ‘heart’. She didn’t have one, instead she had an embedded gem, its sickly lambent glow, its low thrums in her chest; a forged heartbeat. Even monsters were alive, they had hearts, she was just a doll pretending to be alive, going through the motions like a child playing pretend, faking smiles, laughter and tears, emotions only granted to living beings. Her reality is much different. She is hollow, nothing but an empty shell, replaceable. Like the 665 creations before her she too is a failure. Failure to thrive, to form real bonds, because who could ever truly love a doll. At least that what she keeps telling herself. If could convince herself, then she could surely convince him. It would end his suffering, his self doubt, it would save his life. Her death will be his salvation. No, she’s not afraid—at least that what she tells herself. She can’t be, despite the shaking in her hands and tightness in her chest. She is not afraid. So she stands a little taller, lips arching to a radiant smile.

But every time she looks at him the charade gets a little bit harder, her conviction a little bit softer, her mask chips a little bit more. Gloved hands ball into tight fists, digging her nails into the palm of her hands. She cannot hesitate. Heavy tension devours the space between their bodies, but she still smiles. There is apprehension in his cyan hues to the words that hastily spill from her lips. The way the mask of a smile that he wears falters every so slightly, the way his lips press into a thin line. She knows he can see right through her charade—he always has been able to see her for who she truly is. 

His sudden inquisition to her actions pains her, but she stands tall against his onslaught. Would she miss the time she spent with their friends, with him, each question knifes at her chest; each memory flashing in her mind laying something that tastes like bittersweet melancholy at the back of her throat. Had she a real heart she was certain it would have felt like he had reached in between her ribs and clenched the beating muscle in his steeled grasp, silencing it, making her ache in ways she never imagined she could. But she has no heart. There’s no way this pain she feels is real, forged emotions of a lifeless doll with absurd visions of grandeur, longing to be alive. 

“I’m not alive. You wouldn’t be killing me,” she insists with conviction, hoping that if she repeats it enough it will come to fruition. He has to kill her, his life depends on this. And when he kills her she wants him to be without guilt, that he hasn’t killed another living being.

The Thames murmurs lowly beneath the bridge, soft waves rippling across its surface. A cool evening zephyr caresses her face, sending loose locks of mahogany billowing into the air. The moon, an argent disc that hangs high in the sky tosses ribbons of moonlight that illuminate his beautiful face. He shifts, suddenly drawing his blade, its sharpness glinting against the moonlight. Cardia stands tall, beryl eyes locking with cyan prepared to meet her fate—she isn’t afraid, not of death– just being without him. His blade cuts through the night air in a graceful arc, but stops short inches away from her chest. She sees his resolve wavering, the blade quivering beneath his grasp, his moment of weakness. 

“…Kill you? Me, kill you, with this blade? There is no way…I could do that…!” his resolve to carry out his task waning.

His realization pains her, yet makes her happy at the same time. He loves her. She can feel it with every fiber of her being, and it’s this revelation that gives her the strength and the courage that was seeping away from her moments ago. “Thank you, Saint Germain.” she smiles, lifting both of her hands to hold his as she buries his blade deep within her chest. 

The pain is sharp, ellicting a gasp from her lips, tears prick the corners of her eyes as she squeezes them tightly through the waves of agony wracking through her chest. Bright crimson blooms blossom at the site of the injury. The warm ichor staining her white blouse and she feels her strength leaving her body. Knees buckling she falls, but he catches her, cradling her in his embrace. She feels the warmth fading away her body, but in his arms she is so warm. There is nothing she wants more than to be within his embrace, to smell his sweet scent enveloping her senses. He presses her limp form against his chest and despite the ringing in her ears she can hear his heartbeat, a beautiful melodious rhythm lulling her heavy lids to close. A warm droplet, falls against her cheek and she wills her eyes to flutter open to meet his gaze. Don’t cry, she wants to tell him, but when she opens her mouth she can only draw in a shaky gasps and the words die in her throat.

“Please don’t die on me.” he breathes against the mahogany locks that frame her face.

Cardia smiles at him—she wouldn’t want him remembering her any other way. Her vision becomes hazy, but she continues to focus on his moonlit blue eyes, as blue as the cloudless skies she’s looked upon in her days of loneliness in Wales. Beautiful. He is so beautiful. She is lucky. She lifts a hand to place on his tear stained cheek, weakly stroking his face. 

“Perhaps in another…lifetime… I could love you with… a real heart.” She breathes, feeling herself slip away, beryl hues glossing over as she draws a final exhale.


	7. "Be honest."

The susurration of sleet sizzles urgently against the window panes, icy droplets falling from the winter sky splattering on the grounds of the mansion, but within the fire roars steadily in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows around the room. The weather though turbulent does nothing to dampen Cardia’s mood as nuzzles herself in closer, her head rested against his chest, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beating of his heart, an absent smile playing at the curve of her lips, the fluffy down blankets molded against her curved form. She is so very, very happy just to be laying here beside him. Every step, every fall, and every breath cumulated to this very moment; the end of their journey where her wish is finally granted and she can finally touch someone without fear of the poison that coursed her veins, where she can finally touch him.

However, she is hesitant, despite the lack of poison, despite that she can finally touch him; after the months of holding back she finds herself uncertain of her actions, of what is the proper way she should carry herself in situations like this. This is something he’s never taught her, never spoken to her about and for all her knowledge of how a lady should act, she’s already come much further than any lesson taught as she finds he is the exception to every rule.

The clock on the mantle chimes over the ambient sound of the precipitation outside, reminding her of how late it has become and she lifts her head from his chest, beryl hues meeting cyan. He usually retires to his room at this point—or at least that’s how it’s been done in the past—for fear she might melt him in her sleep and she wonders if he would leave this night as well, so she smiles, nodding reassuringly that it’s alright should he take his leave, despite the fact it always makes her a little sad when he leaves– she always hates to be apart from him.

“Be honest.” His words are soft, the corners of his lips pull in a tender smile as he lifts a hand to cup her face, and idle thumb stroking her lightly flushed cheeks. Honest? Hasn’t she always been honest about her feelings toward him? She loves him, she couldn’t ask for more than his love, than to live her life beside him. She is free from her poison, she is able to touch him, he has made her every prayer, every dream, every wish come true. Could she allow herself to be selfish? To want even more?

She presses her cheek against his hand, closing her eyes, feeling his warmth directly against her face; she will never tire of this closeness. And when she opens her eyes he catches her in his earnest cyan gaze and she can feel herself wavering, the resolve she had built moments ago for him to leave faltering—only he has the ability to break her down this way, to tear through any walls any armor she has built; he sees her the way no one else has ever before.

“Please don’t go,” she breathes the words softly as she turns to kiss the fingers that softly caresses her flushed cheeks. Cardia shifts, turning to fully face him as she hovers above him, her tousled chestnut hair falling to hang at the sides of her face. She can feel her pulse quicken as heat slowly floods her face at her bold request, but the way he looks at her, the love in his eyes is a mirror of her own, and she knows this can’t be wrong. 

“I want you to stay,” she says with a smile, pushing her full body weight against him, although he doesn’t seem to mind it. Reaching to cup his cheeks, she pushes aside strands of silver in his face before allowing her slightly parted lips to collide against his; but unlike the kisses they shared before there is no pain, no burn, no fear and she feels him pressing into her kiss deepening it with urgency and need as his hands move to secure her body, pressing it against his own. She kisses him deeply like eternal life can he shared within a single breath, like the heat that rises between them could fill every loneliness, every emptiness he’s had to endure those thousands of years, like she could imprint herself onto his core, his soul. If there is a heaven it exists in Saint’s kisses, in their shared breath, in his embrace and she is certain that this is all she needs.

She pulls away from the kiss, burying her face at the curve between his neck and shoulder, sighing softly. “I love you Saint,” she mumbles into his skin, “I love you so much.”


	8. "I didn't want them to kill you."

“I’m the one you want, not him…” her tone harsh, unyielding that she almost doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

All she knows is the adrenaline coursing her veins, the reverberation of the weapon in her hand, the thunderous blast of the gunshot through the night air still echoing in her head. And as if to prove a point— just in case they wouldn’t take her seriously—she fires again. The butt of the rifle slams into her shoulder further bruising already injured flesh from each knock-back of the blast The shells of crystallized rock salt burst from the gun with fevered liberation finding its target, eliciting pained screams from the hooded assailants. 

Suddenly, the hooded figures whip around so rapidly that she could almost feel the air shift. Tension crackles like electricity around them and three pairs of sickly glowing eyes are suddenly affixed on her; their gazes like ice slicing her skin, making horror clot in her veins, freezing her in place. She gasps, her pulse increases, beating fists against her rib cage demanding escape, her knees want so badly to wobble and buckle. She knows she is wearing courage like a tattered cloak around her shoulders. She’s certain that they know it too.

The crumpled silhouette of her beloved slowly comes into view, beautiful widened cyan eyes staring at her in horror disbelief. His cyan hues are pleading and she wants nothing more than to run to him, to drown in his deep cyan pools, to cradle him in her arms and forget about Omnibus, the Apostles, her forged heart, everything. His voice detonates her name, distressed and broken; slapping her back to reality with gale force. She is driven by a new found courage from his voice, his eyes, him. He’s given her so much. He must survive this.

Cardia, run! Draw them away, she tells herself. Without a second thought she whips around, leather boots slamming on the pavement again and again, breaking into a dash. The sounds Apostles’ footsteps behind her propelling her forward, pushing harder. Run Cardia, run until you are nothing but a blur, until your lungs burn and collapse on themselves, run until your muscles scream and your bones splinter, run until you can no longer hear them behind you, run until you collapse and then get up and run again. They want you, not him. Never him.

So she runs, pushing herself, faster, stronger, harder. Her muscles burn and ache, every time the foot steps gain on her, she pushes herself further. Hoping she has drawn them away from him, that it will buy him time to heal his battered organs and body. Soon her legs begin to give, her lungs burn with every strained breath; oxygen is like molten lava pouring into her chest. Someone slams the blunt of a weapon into her spine, making her tumble forward, knees cracking as they collide onto the cold ground. An armored boot kicks her in the ribs, unremorseful and hollow, leaving her gasping at a strangled wheeze choking her body as she crumples like dried leaves onto the ground. When she finally tastes oxygen, gasping at the sweet air sieving down her throat through a straw that’s too thin, it is served with a side of blood that begins pushing past her lips. She chokes, crimson staining her lips. The pavement is cold and unfeeling beneath her, there a distinct sizzle against her cheek as the poison on her skin begins to erode the stone beneath it. A reminder that she is an abomination. 

Cardia heaves herself to her knees, wobbling to stand as the figures hover over her and strike her down again. Her head slams into the pavement with a broken whimper. Through blurred vision the Tower Bridge begins to bleed into moonlit sky and she can barely distinguish the murmurs of the looming figures above the sound of blood rushing though her head. 

 

An ornate dagger is plunged into her chest, shattering the Horologium into a million fragments burying itself deeper into her flesh. She cries out, acute agony ripping through her body. The excruciating pain continues to inflame her, until every sensation is maimed and amputated; even her own screams become distant and disconnected from her body. A blossom of hot crimson blooms on her ivory shirt, widening as it grows, spreading wet scarlet vines across the fabric, clinging onto it like a macabre trellis. She feels life spilling from her chest, her soul straining towards the open wound– or at least she would like to believe she had a soul. Her purpose was to die, to save humanity from eradication, but more importantly to save him.

The cold night air wraps around her like a heavy blanket, submerging her in an ocean of ice as the warmth leaves her body. It feels as if time has collapsed on itself, everything slowing down to a snail’s speed. A series of images blur in and out of focus, bodies hovering, lights wavering, bleeding together like watercolors on a painting. Sounds and voices are muffled, warped and garbled. She feels her numbing fingers twitch—or perhaps she imagined it— she feels like every part of her body is falling into a deep slumber and she is trying to wake herself from an impossible nightmare. 

Blinking slowly, a face appears in front of her, distorted and unclear, beryl hues strain to bring the face into focus. Strong arms cradle her broken body, each shift like pins piercing her, eliciting a rattling gasp from her throat. She scrapes her gaze upward, responding to something that sounds like her name mixed with distressed cries and she meets with deep cyan eyes. A smile whispers across her lips—if he is really here with her in final moments she is blessed.

“I didn’t want them to kill you.” his voice as broken as her body, clutching her against his chest tightly.   
He grasps her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and she can feel him trembling, shaking. She wants nothing more than to hold him and tell him everything is going to be alright. He still has them to support him. She knows, they wouldn’t abandon him. That the bonds of friendship they have cultivated will continue to grow. 

“I want…you…to live…” she breathes, her voice barely a whisper against his face. After existing all those years, he deserves to finally live.

Blobs of distorted colors blur at the corner of her eye, distinct crimson, vibrant orange, bright green and deep navy making her feel as if a weight has been lifted from her chest—he is not alone. Breaths coming in shallow gasps, Cardia strains to keep his face in focus, beryl hues holding fast into his cyan depths, but it feels like the weight of two anvils are sitting on her eyelids and she slowly flutters them, succumbing to the weight. Everything feels still and serene and she wishes, she hopes that perhaps for once she will be freed of the nightmares, that she will have sweet dreams.


	9. Wedding Night Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to 'Wedding Kiss' http://archiveofourown.org/works/6097723/chapters/16570573

It’s been such a long day; the preparations since dawn, the beautiful ceremony, the elegant reception, everything about this day had been nothing short of perfect. Cardia’s cheeks ache from the smile that refuses to be wiped from her face, it’s as if someone had poured sunshine within her and she can’t help but just glow with radiance and happiness. She has so much to be happy about, so much to be thankful for. She is cured of her condition, he had made good on his promise to her and on bended knee pledged his eternal devotion to her, vowing to remain beside her forever. And for once, her reality was far better than any dream or any wish. As the evening winds down and they say their final farewells to loved ones and dear friends they are once again alone.

Cardia turns to Saint, stealing a shy glance at her handsome groom—and my he does look ever so handsome in his twin-tailed tuxedo— he grins, crossing the room and suddenly his hand is at her back; he moves in a swift fluid motion, sweeping her legs from beneath her as the layers of silk and chiffon of her gown flutter when she is lifted into his arms. She giggles softly, looping her arms around his neck as she allows her knees to settle comfortably over his arm. He looks down at her as they walk up the stairs, “Well, this seems familiar, doesn’t it?” he laughs softly. Cardia nods in response laughing along with him.

When they reach the suite he pushes the ajar door open, taking great care to ensure she doesn’t bang her head on the frame as they enter the room and closes the door behind him then he gently sets her down on the bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight when he seats himself beside her and she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She allows them to settle in her lap smoothing out small ripples and creases in her alabaster gown, her eyes following their movement. “Cardia-san?” his voice hugs the syllables in her name so softly, butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Beryl hues flicker upward to meet his gaze and she notices that he’s looking at her as if he’s trying to memorize every brushstroke of an oil painting. He’s smiling at her like she is the one responsible for stringing stars into the night sky. A warm flush floods her cheeks despite this not being first time they have been alone– but this time everything feels different. Her gaze follows his bare hand as he lifts it, reaching out to her; fingers only a fleeting moment away from her face, but her breath is already catching in anticipation. There is fire in his touch when he cups her cheek, warmth that spreads through her body. She places her bare hand over his on her cheek and presses it firmly against her face, eyes slowly closing as she turns to plant small kisses in his open palm. “I’m so happy,” she murmurs into his hand, “I love you.”

Saint brushes his thumb over her lips and when she opens her eyes his cyan hues are like deep pools and all she wants to do is drown in them. “I love you, Cardia,” he breathes closing the distance between their lips, one hand under her neck and the other around her waist, gently pulling her flush against his silhouette. 

His kisses are warm, soft and sweet against her lips and she wonders if it’s possible that she could actually be melting from his kiss. Breaking away, he dips her backward until the back of her head is on the mattress and begins to leave a trail of kisses down her jawline—a trail she could get lost in forever– his lashes tickling her neck as he trails down lower and he breathes something that sounds like her name into her collarbone before moving to press kisses along the slope of her shoulders. Cardia trembles beneath his hands that shift down her outline; he is so gentle, so tender, so careful as if she were made of porcelain, as if she could shatter beneath his touch. Her skin is on fire, licked by invisible burning flames—she had no idea she could catch fire so quickly– her skin burning then fading to warmth beneath his touch and her heart is flapping wings against her throat, beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird. 

Delicate fingers tangle themselves in his moon-silver muss of hair behind his head, urging him to return from his journey, to face her once more. And when he does, he is hovering over her—careful not to crush her with his weight– gazing at her as if he’s seeing her again for the first time. Cardia reaches up to cup his face in her hands, her chest rising and falling with every breath, a blissful smile curving her lips as she pulls him closer with a new found confidence rising within her. Slender arms shift to encircle his neck as he presses his lips onto hers, “I love you so much,” she sighs into his kiss, her lips parting against his parted lips, savoring, tasting, deepening their kiss. It is a deep and extraordinary kiss, the kind that inspires the moon and stars to reach for the heavens and causes time to move quickly yet stand still at the same time. There is nothing more important than being here in this moment with him as she feels time unfurling itself, falling around her and she is clinging to him like he is her last anchor to this world as her heart takes flight into the evening sky.


	10. "Come here I'm freezing."

The cold air tickles her legs and feet as Cardia leaves the bed, tiptoeing in the darkness of the room toward the streak of moonlight that came through the window. She presses a gloved hand against the chilled windowpane, looking at the streets below. The storm had quickly enveloped the city in a blanket of plush snow as it continued to fall in large chunks showing no sign of stopping. Beryl hues trail the falling snowflakes as they twirl around in the wind, dancing an intricate choreographed performance for any that would watch. A soft sigh tumbles from her lips. The blizzard will likely put a halt to their travels for at least a few days, though they were fortunate that through Saint’s many connections they were able to secure the last suite in the hotel.

A faint rustle comes from behind her, accompanied by a stifled yawn. Cardia glances over her shoulder to see Saint slowly sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand.

“Cardia-san?” his drowsy voice breaks the snow’s muffled silence as it gently hugs the letters of her name.  
“Yes? I’m just looking outside. It looks like we won’t be able to leav—“

“Come here, I am freezing,” she can almost hear his pout in the darkness.  
Cardia finds herself already halfway to the bed by the time she draws her next breath, slowly crawling towards her pillowcase across the sea of blankets to her side of the bed. The spot where she was laying already cold to the touch since she had left it vacant. Once she is within arms reach she feels his hands on her shoulders, slipping down her arms to find her waist and pulls her silhouette flush against his own with her back to his chest. She can feel herself blushing in the darkness and she’s unsure if it’s suddenly warmer in the room because he is holding her or because she is blushing so hard. Gloved fingers lightly clutch the soft comforters, pulling them up to her chest. 

“Are you warm yet?” she asks, lips curving into a smile enjoying the temperate warmth glowing between their bodies.


	11. Not a Dream

Sometimes it felt like she was dreaming. After years of searching, her wish is finally granted– she is able to touch another without the fear of her poisonous skin. The journey in search of the cure wasn’t without difficulty and tribulations nor setbacks and disappointments. There were many times when she was close to losing hope, the frustration and anguish of looming impossibility tightening around her. But he always remained unwavering and resolute. His tender smile and comforting embrace was ever present; all she had to do was turn to him and once again her faith was renewed and she was able to smile through her tears and disappointment. She was not only doing this for herself, but also for him –to find a way for her to live without the Horologium so that they may live together—to fulfill their part in Omnibus’ arrangement.

The days have settled down to a slower pace now that they weren’t traversing the world for a cure, which allowed them to take extended stays in the London mansion. In this time Cardia took it upon herself to learn as many things as possible from culinary arts to dance along with guidance from Saint. She often finds herself wondering if he was enjoying himself more than she during these lessons, stealing touches and kisses as he pleased, making her flush to her ears. And then there was also the realization that with her condition cured, she was not only able to touch others, but others were also able to touch her. Perhaps this was most apparent when their friends came for a visit, their innocent touches and kisses on the back of her hand resulting in Saint pulling her closer to his side. Though his smile never falters, there is something in his eyes that tells her he is silently sulking. She couldn’t help but smile at his expression as she holds onto him a little closer, despite the blush blooming on her cheeks at the teasing from their friends. “Saint’s a lucky man,” they would say, but she knows that she is lucky to have him as well.

She belongs to him, just as he belongs to her, a fact as sure as the sun rises and sets. A fact that she doesn’t mind proving to him, especially now with her poisonous condition cured. With or without her condition, he is still the only person in the world that she would kiss. She falls onto to the plush mattress with that thought, surrendering to the bliss of his embrace, kissing him until she could no longer keep her eyes open and they both are lulled by the call of sleep.

Cardia stirs from the gentle strokes against her cheek, lips curving into a contented smile as she presses her cheek against his touch and a sleepy hum escapes her lips. The blankets shift under his weight when he frees his arm from beneath her and she rolls onto her back. She can feel him hovering above her even with her eyes closed, his moon silver hair that frames his face tickles her skin along the arc of her shoulder and neck lightly when he leans closer. She hears her name whispered softly, his voice hugging each syllable, his breath ghosting against her as his lips are barely a moment away from her own. She responds with a soft hum, but before she can flutter her eyes and beryl can meet cyan he seals her lips with a soft peck. Her eyes flutter open, half lidded beryl melting into cyan as a drowsy smile curves her lips, “Good morning,” she echoes back, a hand lifting to cup his cheek when he takes her breath away once more with another kiss.

She recalls a time when she was filled with worry for him each time he kissed her, the painful sting and burns on his lips from her poison making guilt slip under her skin. How could she allow herself to take pleasure in something that causes him pain and discomfort? But now it’s different as she savors every kiss and sensation. Saint’s lips are soft and warm, light and feathery like downy snowfall, soft and sweet like fairy floss; his kisses are so effortlessly sweet, making her feel like she’s weightless floating into the air– at least his kisses always begin that way, until it changes. Until his hands become tangled into her mahogany locks and the fairy floss melts onto her tongue, turning into honeyed heat and desire. Her hands travel up his arms as slender fingers lace themselves behind his neck and she starts to reel him in closer when he pulls away leaving her breathless.Her heart is still flapping wings against her throat when he falls back onto the bed beside her. Beryl hues reveal themselves to the ceiling and she attempts to catch her breath, trying to calm the thrills tripping over her heart. 

His compliments never fail to make her blush. She sits up and turns to him, her movements causing the collar of the night shirt to slip off her shoulder. Suddenly she is acutely aware that she is not in her own nightgown. A hand swiftly moves to grab the satin material of the shirt—his shirt—tugging it back up in place before it exposes any more of her porcelain skin. Heat rushes up the back of her neck, a rosy flush blooms in her cheeks recalling how she ended up in his sleep shirt and not her own, recalling his invisible fingerprints left on her skin. 

“G-Good morning…” she repeats a shy smile playing at her lips, her hands clutching at the satin fabric balled at her chest. She can’t seem to bring her eyes to meet his when the butterflies are lit aglow in her stomach. She leans forward, collapsing against his chest, molding her silhouette to his. She rests her head on his bare chest as her fingers trace meandering circles and paths on his torso. Surely, they could afford to linger just a little longer.


End file.
